Perfect Worlds
by AmberAngelle
Summary: What was the reason for wanting a perfect world? Oh, there's always reasons. Two villains sit and reflect on their own reasons for wanting to erase the universe.


Cold. That is how Cyrus would describe the Distortion World. The former Team Galactic leader sat on one of the many craggy ledges that made up the bizarre plane, the swirling violet vortex below filling what was left of his heart with shallow emptiness. More than once he had considered leaping off the ledge, losing himself to the darkness below, but found he was unable to. Was it weakness that held him back? He had nothing to live for, as the shadowy pokemon, Giratina, had thwarted his plan and brought him here. Now the only resident of the Distortion World, Cyrus lived without living. His weakness, making him unable to end his life was yet another fault of the "spirit". The very thing that Cyrus had intended to destroy, and the very thing that had caused him so much pain. Between Giratina and the child, his plan had come to ruin. Now the world will live on with the incomplete thing called the "spirit". It burned him, to think he had come so close to victory, only to have it snached away. So he sat and waited, for _something_ to change.

And so it did.

"Ciao!" A voice sliced through the silence that Cyrus had grown used to. The blue haired man jumped up, eyes scanning his surroundings, only to find nothing. Scoffing, he sat once more, thinking perhaps he had finally lost his mind to the point that he was hearing things.

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm very much real." The voice spoke again, and Cyrus once more tried to find its source. He would soon have his answer as a figure appeared before him, unlike anyone he had ever seen. The person that formed was dressed in peculiar clothing, a jester's costume with a black and white theater mask. The man, Cyrus presumed, was floating on the air in front of him, smiling.

"Greetings! I do hope I am not interrupting the peace of your… thoughts." The jester said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

"In my thoughts there is no peace." Cyrus said gruffly, deciding that yes, he had gone mad. For what other explanation could there be?

"Good! Then I suppose you would not be adverse to a bit of a chat? For you see, I know what you had intended. For a perfect world, is that not so?" The jester inquired. The jester then sat beside him on the rocky cliff edge. Deciding to just go along with whatever delusion his mind had concocted, Cyrus responded.

"Yes." Cyrus said briskly. The jester nodded.

"Ah yes, for you see, I understand. I too had desired a perfect world, a world without any impurities. A world for myself alone. Like a king on top a hill, I wished to rule on high so that the world, nay, the universe would know of my power. But alas, as you well can see, that did not come to be. My victory was stolen from me, and so, I now exist as a wandering spirit, a fraction of what I once was. Now that I have bore my soul to you, tell me, what reason did you desire to erase your world?" The jester asked, staring intently at his blue haired companion.

Cyrus considered for a moment, but then decided to entertain this delusion's request.

"Spirit. The very essence of life. It is a broken thing, one I needed to erase." Cyrus explained, very minimal in comparison.

"Ah, but you failed, because the will of another was strong than your own, it that not true?" The jester inquired sharply. It burned Cyrus, the truth of the statement.

"Giratina. Had the being not interfered, I would have won." Cyrus growled, his cool broken. The jester laughed, more of a mad cackle than anything else.

"Ah, yes. So close you could _taste it_. Like a slobbering dog coming to eat his last meal, victory was in your grasp! Only for it to slip away…" The jester exclaimed, his hand squeezing into a fist before slowly loosening.

"Well, that's just too bad, isn't it? Nothing to do but go home…" The jester sighed, looking to the former leader for a reaction. Cyrus scoffed.

"I have no home." he said flatly.

"But you must have come from somewhere! Or perhaps whoever is waiting would not welcome your return…" The jester pondered, then laughed. Cyrus growled, just about done with this… thing.

"What would you know of me?" Cyrus barked and stood up, intending to walk away.

"I know your pain. For it is a pain we share. I don't think I'd be very welcome back home either." The jester said, shrugging his shoulders.

"But… That's neither here nor there. I would love to stay and chat further but… I suppose this is goodbye." The jester said as he suddenly vanished from sight. Cyrus could do nothing but wonder, was that really a delusion?


End file.
